Dragonborn on Sick Leave
by Norroen Dyrd
Summary: It has become a custom for Baldr the Dragonborn to disobey Daedra Lords. Naturally, this is bound to lead to problems - especially if the matter concerns Peryite, the Prince of Pestilence.
1. Chapter 1

'I'm sorry...' Erandur whispered chokingly, wiping his eyes, 'You... You shouldn't have seen this... I don't know what came over me...'

Baldr beamed at him, showing an almost unnatural amount of teeth, 'No worries, my friend; you know you needed a good cry, what with all these awful things haunting your memory! And if you are ashamed, don't be - I have that effect on everyone. Honestly, if I had a pebble for every living being that ends up sobbing on my shoulder, I would be able to make a life-size replica of the Throat of the World, complete with High Hrothgar and all! Humans, mer, beastfolk, men, women, children, dogs, Daedra - they all get extraordinarily weepy in my presence; makes me think that beside being part dragon, I might also be part onion... I wonder how my die-hard Thalmor of a father would react if he found out...'

The priest of Mara looked at his over-zealous, sincerely friendly assistant-Dawnstar-saver with a slow shake of his head and an incredulous smile, 'You know, you are the most extraordinary person I ever met. An Altmer with the appearance and morals of a Nord and the heart of a child...'

Baldr laughed, loudly and heartily, his arms folded on his chest, steel-clad and unusually broad for an elf, and his braided hair dancing over his genially twinkling eyes, 'Why, thank you! But we really should get a move on - much as I like long dialogues, being an aspiring bard, there are artifacts that need to be banished to Oblivion'.

Erandur went up the time-worn stone steps and stood facing the Skull of Corruption, Baldr hovering interestedly behind his back. Nodding briefly to his companion's encouraging, 'Come on, I believe in you!', he took a deep breath and let the magic come alive within him, throbbing warmly in his heart and rushing, like a mountain torrent, through his veins, towards the tips of his cupped fingers.

It was not long before he heard Baldr address someone invisible, apparently seriously angered by what that someone had told him, 'No way! I have trusted him this far and I am going to trust him up to the end!' and then, after a brief pause, 'Yes, I do know him better than you - to you, he was a servant; to me, he is a friend! What, you want a bet or something?'

And before Erandur even had time to shape the realization that had shot across his mind into a coherent thought, the same voice that had to have been speaking to Baldr addressed him, soft, sly, enthralling, like the hiss of a snake; Erandur stopped his rite and listened, his eyes blank and glassy, his chest heaving, perspiration trickling down his temples,

_'Look at him. So obstinate in his foolish belief that you will do him no harm, that your true intention indeed is to rid this realm of my Skull... But he is mistaken, isn't he? We both know that. You are a coward and a traitor, always have been, always will be - it is a stygm burned into your past as well as your future. You will turn on your new friend just as you turned on your former brothers and sisters. You will abandon your precious Mara just as you once abandoned me. And the moment you do so, the moment this blind, naive mortal drops dead at your feet - I will accept you back as my faithful... yes, I will, worthless, contemptible, double-crossing worm as you are. And the Skull will be yours, all yours... Isn't that what you are craving for, somewhere in the dark depths of that foul, reeking pit that you call your soul? Come now, fulfill your desire, and you will be mine again... Casimir'._

That last word woke Erandur from his trance; he shuddered all over and, a wild crimson flame of fury flaring up in his eyes, his mouth distorted and twitching, as if in pain, screamed with such passion that Baldr stepped back in alarm, _'DON'T! CALL! ME! CASIMIR!'_

Erandur's thundering outburst was followed by a flash of light, so glaringly vivid that it seemed to eat through his eyes and Baldr's like acid - and the Skull dissolved into thin air, sucked back into the nightmarish plane where it had been created.

'Say, she told you to kill me, huh?' Baldr asked, patting Erandur, sheepish and out of breath, on the back, 'Figures. These Daedra Lords have no imagination. I've recently been through the same routine with Molag Bal. Only in that case, the other mortal snapped. So much for the high-and-mighty Vigil of Stendarr...'

He looked like he had a good mind to spin a long yarn about one of his numerous adventures in the wilds of Skyrim, but he cut himself short abruptly, eyes widened, eyebrows raised in childish astonishment.

'Shor's beard, that was odd,' he muttered at length, passing his hand over his forehead, 'This place must really be getting to me'.

'What's the matter?' Erandur asked, taking Baldr's other hand, suddenly limp and clammy, off his shoulder and peering into his face.

The Nord-like Altmer made a nonchalant gesture, 'Oh, it was nothing really! The whole place got blurry for a moment or two and sort of rushed away from me, as if I was falling into a well... But it's gone now. Could be a side-effect of the Torpor or something. I will go and ask Mara for a blessing at the shrine you made, if you don't mind - this usually helps. I catch all sorts of nasty ailments while out there in the great wide open - and asking the Divines for help has never failed me yet'.

This time, it did. As Baldr was rising from his kneeling posture at Mara's altar, prayer completed and blessing received, he gave a small gasp and gripped at the sleeve of Erandur's robe for support.

'By Talos,' he laughed, shaking his head like a wet dog, 'I've never felt so queasy since the infamous Hangover of Markarth'.

'Let me take a proper look at you,' the priest suggested, his tone stern and business-like - their adventure put behind them, he was once again a healer at work.

Baldr, who was already on his way out of the ruined temple, glanced at Erandur over his shoulder and snorted, 'Don't have time for medical examination. Right now I have quite a few pressing items on my agenda that I have been putting off for too long as it is. A friendly neighbourhood Dragonborn, such as myself, can't afford to just hang about being healed. I will get over it, eventually. Always have'.

'Let me at least accompany you to wherever you are heading,' Erandur pleaded, sounding sincerely concerned, 'You might need help on your travels now that you are feeling... out of sorts. It's the least I can do for you in return for your trust in me - the trust that gave me strength to face Vaermina...'

Baldr smiled, 'I won't have you fuss over me like a wet-nurse; but I always welcome good company'.


	2. Chapter 2

'Something tells me you shouldn't have accepted that man's request,' said Erandur as the two elves exited Dawnstar's makeshift museum, 'Did you see his eyes while he was speaking? His obsession with the Mythic Dawn borders on insanity...'

'Relax!' Baldr exclaimed lightheartedly; frankly speaking, during Silus's enthusiastic overview of history he hadn't been paying much attention to his eyes, or his words, too preoccupied with wondering why the display room had all of a sudden filled itself with glowing, venomously green liquid, making it rather difficult to move and breathe. Oddly enough, neither Silus nor Erandur had seemed to care about the liquid's presence much, and naturally, it had evaporated before Baldr could draw their attention to it.

'Weren't you the one to get all touched and soppy over my trusting in you? Well, now it's Silus's turn to get his share of trust. Now, to business'.

Without slowing down his brisk, springy gait, Baldr thrust his arm about elbow-deep into his trusty old knapsack, which appeared to be magically bottomless, rummaged through his numerous rustling, clanking, rattling belongings and, after several violent tugs, pulled out a rather battered-looking map, with long narrow holes in the places where it was usually folded and a bunch of hagraven feathers stuck to one corner,

'Our first stop is Morthal. Quite a nice beginning for a quest, I'd say. Nothing like a jolly old hike down the road through the moonlit snowy forest!'

He laughed, a bit too cheerfully, his eyes feverish; Erandur gave him a long, suspicious look, but said nothing.

Though it did start out as such, the hike stopped being jolly soon enough, as it often happens with hikes in Skyrim. Baldr was just about to draw Erandur's attention to the stunningly beautiful way the wind raised clouds of snowy dust off the hillsides, when all the soft, gentle sounds of the serenely sleeping forest were drowned out by a shrill, blood-freezing screech, and the pine trees swayed, as if bowing to the great winged shadow that swept down on the two travellers. Erandur froze, awestruck, shielding his eyes with his hand to be able to discern the advancing dragon through the swirling veil of snow; Baldr, in the meanwhile, threw his knapsack on the ground and readied his bow. He had made this weapon all by himself, out of scraps of Dwemer metal, which he had melted down and forged together, specifically for the purpose of battling dragons, and had learned how to use it under the guidance of his Shield-Sister, Aela the Huntress; for some bizarre reason, he had named the bow Heidi and cherished it as though it were a little child - not only because it was the fruit of his own handiwork, but also because every time he used it he remembered the warmth of Aela's touch on his arm and her hair brushing against his cheek during the long hours of their archery training sessions.

'Come at me, you oversized lizard!' Baldr called out teasingly, pulling Heidi's string as far back as his strength allowed him, 'Come at me!'

He took aim, eyes narrowed - and lowered Heidi with a cry of frustration. He had found himself completely unable to focus on the dragon, which was circling overhead, breathing out a gust of icy wind every now and then, for his vision had suddenly become obscured by large green spots, half-transparent and blurred at the edges, that swam before his eyes, bumping into each other and then drifting apart like floes of ice.

'Erandur!' he breathed, wincing and jerking his head from side to side to get rid of the invisible, vice-like hand that pressed at the nape of his neck, the green spots growing darker and deeper in colour, swelling, merging together as the unseen fingers tightened their grip, 'Shoot it down with spells!'

With a brief, silently horrified look at Baldr, the priest hastened to obey his command, directing a spurt of flames, intertwined with blindingly bright, sizzling lightning, at the dragon's chest, which it had exposed while hovering over them, preparing to freeze the writhing, helpless Dragonborn to death.

The green haze before Baldr's eyes dissolved a little when the dragon landed, with a tremendous thud, breathing loudly, raspingly, thrashing its tail on the ground, determined to crush the insolent little mortal that had dared to cause it pain. As it started advancing at Erandur, who had conjured up a ward to give himself at least some protection from the beast's icy breath, Baldr dashed forward, pushing the startled priest aside and unsheathing the orcish greatsword that he wore attached to leather straps on the back of his armour. Putting all his remaining strength into one final leap, he threw himself at the dragon's snout and plunged the blade deep between its eyes.

He stood still as the beast's blood showered on him like scorching rain, and as the great scaly bulk came tumbling down at his side and burst into flames. He had closed his eyes to keep the persistent green spots away, but they were still there, dancing, dancing... He tore his eyelids apart after the usual warm push at his chest, which meant the dragon's soul had entered his body, and as he did, he saw that the green liquid had flooded the forest, and that he was sinking into it, the blurred outlines of the trees slipping away from him; for a fracture of a moment, he thought he saw Erandur, his mouth opened as if he were screaming, but there was no sound coming out - all the sounds of the world were gone, all except the wild throbbing in his ears...

Erandur dropped down on his knees next to Baldr, who had collapsed into the snow moments after slaying the dragon and consuming its soul. The young Altmer's brow has burning with fever and covered in beads of sweat; his breath was fast and hoarse; he did not react to any of Erandur's frantic attempts to revive him with healing magic - nor to his desperate cry, 'Baldr! Answer me! _Answer me,_ curse you!.. Please... answer me...'


	3. Chapter 3

The caravaneers were slowly trudging along the snowy road, wrapping themselves in furs to keep the piercing cold from gnawing at the bones, and exchanging weary remarks about how they would soon, very soon, make camp in Dawnstar, and light the fires, and roast the meat, and lay out their goods for the humans to gawk at. They paused in alarm when they saw the trunks of the far-off trees suddenly become tinted gold and scarlet by the glint of a flame.

'What could that be?' Zaynabi asked in a whisper, 'Wildfire? In this land of bitter cold?'

Kharjo shook his head. 'No,' he said dreamily, 'That is a dragon destroyed by the Dragonborn. I witnessed it once up close... A sight worthy of tale and song!'

'This one's travels with the Dragonborn have really gotten to this one's head,' Ahkari remarked, her whiskers twitching in disapproval, 'We are moving on'.

'Perhaps we could send word to the Dragonborn to come join us,' Dro'Marash suggested softly, unobtrusively, 'His transactions with the caravan always bring us coin, and curios which fetch good prices in the cities of Skyrim. Kharjo looks eager, why not let him go into the woods and beckon to him?'

Ahkari grumbled something incoherent, but the caravan guard was already off, his pace swift and noiseless, the tips of his boots barely touching the snowdrifts - for the prospect of meeting his old friend had eased the burden of the long journey through the wilderness, and he had found enough strength to run.

He came to a halt, raising a sparkling white whirl of snow, spotting the dim grey outlines of two figures by the side of the dragon's skeletal remains - one lying, frighteningly motionless, on the ground, another kneeling next to it, face buried in its hands, wind tearing at its hooded robe.

'Friend Baldr!' Kharjo called out, foreboding stirring sickeningly within him, 'Friend Baldr! Is that you?'

The hooded figure turned its head at the sound of the Khajiit's voice and spoke, dully, hoarsely, 'My spells won't work. He won't open his eyes. He won't speak to me. My spells won't work...'

K'harjo came closer and squatted down next to the stupefied Dunmer priest that was gazing unblinkingly into Baldr's pallid, distorted face. 'What's wrong with him?' he asked in a hushed voice.

'I don't know...' the Dunmer replied wearily, 'It looks like a fever of some sort, and yet magic doesn't seem to ease it... I've never seen anything like it...'

'There is a city on the icy coast nearby, where mages dwell,' Kharjo said, doing his utmost to be helpful, 'Maybe they know. I will ask the other Khajiit to take you and friend Baldr there; it is not on our caravan's usual route, for we always turn south-east, to the grey and dreary Windhelm, where the Nords are harsh and full of hatred towards your kind and mine - but Ahkari might make an exception, for the sake of friend Baldr'.

The priest nodded slowly, silently, and the encouraged Khajiit hurried back to his caravan.

Enthir strolled casually inside The Frozen Hearth, his thumbs tucked below the belt of his robe. It had been a long day at the College, the news from the Thieves Guild were far from cheering, and that Onmund boy, accompanied by two other Apprentices - for moral support, most likely - kept plaguing him with whining pleas to give his stupid amulet back - so he intended to wind down as much as he could. To his utmost surprise, Enthir found his favourite seat already occupied, and what was more, occupied by the person he had least expected to ever drop by at the local tavern.

'Evening, Colette. What are you doing here, of all places?' he said idly, settling down beside her and peering curiously at the contents of her mug. She must have taken no more than a couple of sips, but apparently, for her it was more than enough.

'What does it look like?' Colette snapped back with a small hiccup, 'I am drowning my sorrows! What else should I be doing, being the least appreciated mage at the College?'

'Now, now, Colette, don't work yourself into a state,' Enthir said soothingly, mentally cursing the gods for marring his day with yet another nuisance, 'You know that everybody respects you and your choice of school...'

'They do, do they?' she exclaimed, her tone dangerously close to being hysterical, 'They might _pretend _to respect me, but I know they all laugh at me behind my back! Yes, oh yes - Restoration, the most noble and useful branch of magical lore, is disgracefully neglected and ri-ridiculed in this pathetic excuse for a College!'

Enthir rolled up his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. And just as Colette filled up her lungs with a portion of air sufficient enough to go on with her passionate lament, the door of the inn creaked open, and a little girl's ruffle-haired head poked through the gap.

'Da! Say, Da!' the child blurted out, addressing the innkeeper, who was hovering uneasily behind his counter, his eyes darting from Ranmir, the regular troublemaker, to Colette, the new one, 'There is a whole bunch of kitties outside, and there are two elves with them, and one of the elves is terribly sick, and they are looking for someone who knows a lot about Retso... Resto...'

'That's_ Restoration, _you little ignorant!' Colette interrupted her shrilly, leaping up and waving her arms in agitation, 'Finally! Oh, finally, someone comes to this hole of a city who actually needs me!'

'Shh, shh, simmer down, old girl, simmer down,' Enthir said, catching hold of her wrists and trying, gently but persistently, to pull her back into her seat.

'Oh, kid,' he turned to face the girl, 'Go and tell the, uh, kitties they've come to the right place. They will just need to bring along a bucketful of cold water'.


	4. Chapter 4

_It had been centuries, millennia, and he was still falling, falling to the bottom of the great green ocean - for lack of a better word, for the liquid all around him was not ocean water; no, it was much thicker than water, sticky, slime-like, pressing at him on all sides, getting into his eyes and ears and mouth, lapping inside his lungs, flowing through his body instead of blood, hot and cold at the same time, so hot that it was benumbing, so cold that it was scorching. He was not alone - through the green veil that obscured his vision, he could make out another person, falling together with him, and he was at the same time glad and terrified. It was his mother, white and bloated, with her hair billowing like seaweed - just as on the day he found her, staring up at him through the water, when he was three years old... That was the day she started coming to him in nightmares, and so she had come to him again - this made him suspect vaguely that it was all a dream, yet another dream, and that if he tried really hard, it would all be gone, the green slime, and the sensation of falling, forever falling, and his mother's face, turned towards him, gaping at him with empty, hole-like eyes... He urged himself to wake up, he even called out to someone who might help him wake up - there had been this Dunmer, ages and ages ago, screaming silently, trying to hold on to him, to keep him from falling into the slime... _

_The fall ended. The all-consuming greenness was gone. He scraped his palms and knees, for he had dropped down on solid ground. Rejoicing at having finally woken up, he got to his feet, looked around - and froze, uncomprehending. He was in a long corridor, sloping downwards, with large, massive metal pipes attached to its walls, and green roots crawling out of dark corners. There was light, uneven, shimmering, reflected off the stones of the floor so that it made it seem paved with gold, and there was noise, loud, hammering, the noise of dwarven machinery at work, booming inside his very skull. And there was the head, the severed head, rolling down and down and down towards the end of the sloping corridor, leaving a bloody trail behind it - it was ugly, with dark, peeling skin warped by disease, and a frozen expression of pain and hatred. He followed the rolling head with his gaze - and then, he remembered. He had cut that head off himself, as he had cut off many heads before it. The heads of the Afflicted. Now he knew where he was. _

_'Peryite!' he called out at the top of his voice, 'Why have you sent me here again? Don't you know? I have ended the misery of all the poor souls contained inside this ruin, so that they may not spread your so-called Blessing - and I have thrown the shield you gave me deep into the Sea of Ghosts! Do you hear me? I defy you, Peryite! I defy you!'_

'I defy you, Peryite... I defy you...' Baldr whispered weakly, tossing and turning in his bed at The Frozen Hearth Inn. Colette, Erandur, Enthir and Kharjo, who had all gathered at his side, exchanged startled looks.

'Aha!' the champion of the neglected art of Restoration exclaimed triumphantly, 'Did you follow his delirium? The poor foolish boy must have somehow crossed the Blighted Lord, and he decided to punish him by creating some new type of disease and infecting him with it!'

'Why am I not surprised...' Erandur muttered with a mirthless smile.

'This disease - can it be cured?' Kharjo asked, the tips of his ears twitching.

'Who knows,' Enthir sighed, 'If Colette here is right...'

'Of course I'm right!' Colette piped in indignantly; Enthir ignored her, 'If Colette is right and this is indeed some new-fangled invention of Peryite's, there is no telling what might be required for a cure...'

'Perhaps, a book on the subject could help?' asked a voice, meek and faltering, which turned out to belong to a young Dunmer girl, who was hovering on the inn room's threshold; when her eyes met Erandur's, she broke into a sudden fit of coughing and looked away, her greyish skin colour deepened by an intense blush.

'You!' Enthir cried out, glaring meaningfully at the girl and her two companions, a Nord and a Khajiit, clad, just as she was, in mages' robes, 'Who let you stir out of the College?'

'We were actually intending to persuade Master Enthir to part with Onmund's amulet,' the robed Khajiit explained silkily, 'But we could not but overhear...'

'This is none of your business!' Enthir said curtly, 'Now, let the grown-ups deal with their problems and get back to the College!'

'But you see,' the Dunmer girl seemed to have recovered from Erandur's gaze, and started speaking again, hurriedly, urgently, 'It just so happens that we know what might help! We were at the library this morning, and we saw that Urag was a good deal more grumpy than usual, and we asked why, and it turned out he is on edge because he is expecting a very rare, very informative book on Peryite to arrive at any moment! He has hired some sellswords to retrieve it for him from a cave, and they should be back soon! He told us that this is going to be the most detailed account of Peryite in the whole Arcanaeum!'

She fell silent, having run out of breath, and once again found herself looking into Erandur's eyes; this time, she held his gaze for quite a while, the corners of her lips raised in a shy smile, which he returned, his heart suddenly skipping a beat.

'Brelyna, my dear,' Colette declared, inadvertently breaking the spell, 'You just might be onto something. Now, we need a plan, don't we? How about I keep watch at the sickbed, while you kids, Enthir and - Erandur, was it? - go to the Arcanaeum and see if there are any other tomes on Peryite, since the sellswords haven't arrived yet? You might also prepare Urag for the news that his precious tome won't be arriving to him straight away. And subdue him in case he overreacts. And our new Khajiit friend may wait for these sellsword people and be ready to intercept them, directing them here instead of the College. How's that for you?'

They all agreed - the excitement of being needed seemed to have turned Colette into quite a tactician.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' Brelyna asked quietly, nodding at the northern lights.

'It's breathtaking,' Erandur replied, 'I think I will never cease to admire it'.

The search of the Arcanaeum had proved long and fruitless, and the conversation with Urag equally long and nerve-wrecking, so all of them had decided to return back to the Hall of the Elements through the roof, as a breath of fresh air is just what you need after dealing with dusty tomes and uncooperative Orcs - and it just so happened that Brelyna and Erandur had strayed off a little, turning inside a little turret with a large round opening, through which they could see the skyline of the Sea of Ghosts.

'Now all our hopes rest on these sellswords and the book they are bringing,' Erandur went on, his voice calm and thoughtful but his face strained with hidden anxiety.

Brelyna peered at him from beneath her hood, feeling the warmth of sympathy spread in waves from her heart, 'You really are worried about your friend, aren't you?'

He nodded, biting into his lower lip and never tearing his gaze away from the serene blue glow over the horizon, 'It's... difficult, knowing that he might... slip away at any minute...'

'He must be very brave, standing up to a Daedra Lord like that,' Brelyna remarked, both expressing her true opinion and seeking a way to somehow subtly comfort him.

Erandur smiled, 'He has quite a habit of standing up to Daedra Lords. He did so once... for my sake'.

Intrigued, Brelyna parted her lips to ask for more detail, but at that moment Erandur shifted his arm, which rested on the stone edge of the opening, into a more comfortable position; his sleeve brushed against Brelyna's hand, and she jumped back, as though stung. He looked at her, musing to himself on the inexplicable ways Lady Mara bestowed her blessing on mortals, and said softly, 'Perhaps we should go back inside. There are things that need attending to'.

Brelyna hastened to express her agreement, a bit too enthusiastically.

They parted their ways in the Hall of the Elements; Erandur exited the College to cross the bridge and join Colette at Baldr's side, while Brelyna proceeded into the Hall of Attainment, where she went to sleep in her quarters - and her dreams, quite naturally, were dominated by the face of the priest of Mara and the sound of his voice.

'I wonder what joke you would make if you knew,' Erandur murmured, pressing Baldr's lifeless hand in his, 'Please come back to us so you can make one'.

Colette was dozing in a chair next to the sickbed, so she heard nothing.

Kharjo was prowling outside the inn, awake and alert; his caravan had left for Winterhold, but he had stayed behind, determined to keep his eyes open for any sign of the sellswords.


End file.
